After the briefest civil ceremony I’ve ever experienced, the rest of the guests arrived at the pub for dinner and drinks, dressed in matching blue hues, tints, and tones. We had a little speakeasy to ourselves with our own tender behind the bar, hidden behind an assuming bookshelf, where we could order more vittles as we saw fit. It was the perfect venue for a casual wedding and a night of unpretentious celebration.

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Post tags: Aaron, friends, Heather, parties, self-portrait | Categories: Daily Life, Photos

Unfortunately, he remained a perpetual loaf in a dark corner during all the hours we stayed. Without being able to interact and physically check his condition, we decided not to take the chance. A few other kittens were also wandering around this modest country house-cum-cat-gym, including one with dilute calico colours that reminded me so much of Dolly. She rolled onto one side to present her belly as soon as I started petting her, and I knew she was the one right then.

The day we met her, without any idea of what to call her. She wasn’t listed on the shelter’s website because she wasn’t yet old enough for the surgeries required for adoption.

And her namesake, Countess Liliana Vess. Even though she’s a master necromancer and healer, her use of mana strictly remains in the black domain, which seemed quite fitting for Lili’s mysterious nature.

The inspiration I get for pet names usually comes from creative influences or personal heroes, but this time we went with a character from the Magic: The Gathering universe. It’s a hobby Heather and I have shared for so long (and into which we’ve poured an embarrassing amount of money) that it felt appropriate to have a name related to something we both enjoyed. And since we tend to think of our cats as royalty in some way — especially since they treat us like furniture — it also made sense to name her after a person of nobility.

There’s no way anyone could mistake her for Dolly though. She’s the smallest cat I’ve ever owned, likely because she’s not motivated by food in any way. With Dolly and Byron, it would be a constant battle to keep them off the counters¹. Cooking any kind of meat would have them begging at my feet, screaming to get my attention. Dolly would even knock utensils out of my hand if I wasn’t paying attention. She’d eat flies, spiders, beetles, while Byron would somehow consume foam balls, rubber bands, objects that were both inanimate and inedible. Lily, on the other hand, is only interested in her regular meals and the occasional dry treat. Not bacon, sushi, butter, or any other form of kitty kryptonite.

Our after-dinner ritual (the start of which is signalled by the sound of dishes being put away), when she climbs on me for some ear rubs or time with the de-shedding brush. She prefers it when I stiffen an arm to make a guardrail for her lap-bed; otherwise, she’ll keep walking loops and refuse to get settled.

I like to think that the warm purring against my belly aids in digestion, so it works out for us both.

Her personality couldn’t be more different either, as she’s quite aloof and independent compared to how clingy Dolly was. Her favourite place to sleep has always been under the bed, so we usually don’t see her for most of the day. She’s so shy that she’ll hide there the entire time guests are over, which is why Heather and I are the only ones who truly know her and how affectionate she can be…when she’s in the mood. And unlike all my other cats, who are accustomed to being picked up and cradled like a baby several times a day, the only way she accepts being held is if I’m sitting with my knees up, with her lying back against my thighs so she can get both her chest and belly rubbed.

When she wants attention, she’ll walk into the room and demand it from me with piercing meows, or flop onto her side with an exaggerated stretch (what I call “giving me a sweet roll”). It’s a ritual she’ll repeat a few times, with a huff thrown in every now and then to let me know her displeasure, if I’m not giving the attention fast enough.

It comes as no surprise that she gets along with Percy, since he has a habit of grooming everyone — regardless of size or species — as if they’re a little sibling. Still, a dominant streak will run through him every now and then, usually manifesting as an attempt to clamp onto her scruff and mounting her like he’s in heat. We don’t mind his attempts to chase her since he’s getting rather tubby, while we suspect she’ll always remain the size of a kitten.

Admittedly, I’m still getting used to her reclusiveness, especially compared to my previous cats, who all spent the majority of their time in my presence. I always appreciate having a feline within arms-length so I can touch them whenever I need a quick hit of dopamine, which means making sure there are always comfortable nests for them nearby. With Lili though, she’s always the one to initiate, and interactions are decidedly on her terms. As soon as she’s had enough of me, she’ll quickly leave and disappear until she’s craving attention again. Combined with my abandonment issues, it means I never have the heart to get up or move once she’s decided to sleep on me. Fortunately, Heather doesn’t mind being the bad guy, and will pick her up so I can remain the favourite parent.

1. Leonard died too young before I could tell what kind of personality he had, while Percy is somewhat in between.

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Post tags: cats, Lili, Percy, Photos | Categories: Photos, Random, Video

This one has been hitting me particularly hard lately, a winding, dissonant pulse that never fails to draw me to a dark and calming place. Gojira’s albums are filled with aggressive, intense passages that explore themes of trauma, mysticism, and death, but none of their songs feel as heavy as this, no doubt influenced by the passing of the Duplantier matriarch¹. Yet throughout, as with most of Joseph’s lyrics, is a sense of hope and optimism in the face of the chaos that constantly threatens to drown us all.

I’m at a point in my life — again — where it’s good to know that music can still bring me to tears. I long believed SNRIs had robbed me of the ability to cry in those small moments between life-changing crises.

It’s a solace I gladly accept when sleep is a rose that rarely graces my garden nowadays. Even when I stay up beyond the point of exhaustion, I begin to stir shortly after passing out with thoughts swimming in my head, anxious and terrified before I realize I’m already awake again.

And when I can’t concentrate on the things that used to bring me joy, when all I can do is sit in the blackness of my room, drunk, stoned, and sedated, I’ll take any comfort I can get.

1. Mother of brothers Joe and Mario Duplantier, the lead vocalist / rhythm guitarist and drummer.

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Post tags: anxiety, crying, depression, music | Categories: Daily Life

At the casual boxing day gathering I had the pleasure of meeting Alfie, Cristina’s dapper rescue mutt who deals with the same social anxiety issues as I do. Maybe that’s why we got along so well.

Probably also the fact that we were both dosed up.

It didn’t end up being anything spectacular. Just a night with a generous three hour window to catch up on Nolan’s latest work¹ and some extra time to finish a campaign in Halo’s Master Chief Collection².

Normalcy ended up being a gift I didn’t realize I needed. The approach of each holiday season has been a looming spectre ever since I cut the power cord off a standing Ikea lamp and made a noose to hang myself from the banister 10-ish years ago³, and the anniversary effect still hits me hard.

Being alone was a way to prove to myself that I’m not so helpless now, that I don’t have to be trapped in a past that still haunts me. I’ve come a long way since that fateful morning, when I was interrupted by two cops who wouldn’t leave unless I agreed to let them drive me to the hospital. Developing a wider emotional vocabulary, nurturing healthy relationships instead of toxic ones, working with a therapist every month, and consistently stepping out of my comfort zone so I can learn and grow are all things that have given me better tools and resources to survive.

A new set of matching pajamas for the whole family each year is the kind of tradition I’ll never get to have for myself, a fact that was much more painful for me to accept before I started looking for fulfillment in ways that don’t depend on others. Instead of feeling a tinge of sadness, I can now enjoy and appreciate experiences like this.

Spending Christmas with Aaron and his family this year certainly stayed any feelings of loneliness.

When I told him how scared I was of being isolated over the holidays, he insisted I stay with them or risk disappointing the kids. It was a touching threat, as well as a sign of how protective Aaron is of the people he cares about (and something I wouldn’t have noticed until Heather pointed out).

A few years ago, I might have believed it was a gesture out of charity or pity. Now I’m confident enough in my self-worth to know the invitation was extended because he genuinely enjoys my company and believes I’m a positive influence on his children (who have referred to me as “Uncle Jeff” ever since they could talk).

I collect my birthday and Christmas cards, one of the few tangible things I receive from the dwindling family I have left, and probably a sign that there are lingering insecurities. Hand-drawn ones like these are particularly special; I feel seen when someone appreciates the meals I make them or my gaming abilities or simply myself as a person.

To be loved by children and animals — beings who are too innocent to have ulterior motives for expressing such feelings — is something I’ve come to cherish a great deal after a lifetime of emotional manipulation.

Being around four kids and five adults left me so wired that I had to leave a night earlier than planned so as to avoid burning myself out, even if years of unbearable loneliness meant I desperately wanted to stay. It was comforting enough to see me through one of the most difficult nights I’ve annually come to dread.

When I thanked him afterwards, he told me it would mean a great deal to everyone if I joined them each year, but no pressure. Having a place to go, but more importantly, knowing it’s because my presence would be valued instead of an obligation due to relation, has given me a feeling of acceptance and belonging I thought would be forever beyond my reach, and a sense of hope I believed was eternally lost.

1. Oppenheimer was the first of his films that wasn’t my thing, but as with Scorsese, Malick, Anderson, Tarantino, and Villeneuve’s oeuvres, I’ll always be paying attention.
2. I’ve never owned a Microsoft console, so while some mechanics and level designs are extremely dated, I’m still enjoying my delve into the history of such a huge cultural phenomenon as the Halo series.
3. Dates and memories tend to be very hazy around that time, especially when I try not to think about it too much.

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Post tags: Aaron, confidence, dogs, family, hope, insecurity, loneliness, realization, self-evaluation, suicide | Categories: Daily Life, Photos

I thought I was stable enough to make it a few hours in a house alone with one of her brothers, but the anxiety attack I had while trying to fall asleep taught me otherwise. Being in the presence of a person with such a flat affect reminds me too much of the time in my life when I was so numb and broken that nothing could provoke interest or emotion. Sometimes I’ll find him in a lounge chair for hours, legs reclined, completely motionless and silent and staring into space. Even though we’re all glad he’s home and no longer living on the streets, being around him can be a discomforting still-face experiment I’d rather not take part in.

Her mom knows how hard it is for me to leave the house, let alone travel to another town, so she always makes her contentment known when I show up at her door. The shelves in her house are adorned with pictures of couples, families, children, records of a life rich with friendships and memories. I’m honoured to be among them, for I cannot concede to being significant enough to take up such space in many other homes.

She’s the closest I’ll ever have to a mother-in-law, and she gives me a hug and tells me she loves me for the first time as we leave. Heather will later ask if I think it’s true, knowing how hard it can be for me to process and accept love after so many broken relationships with significant people. I tell her I haven’t been given a reason believe otherwise.

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Post tags: anxiety, dogs, family, love, trip | Categories: Daily Life, Video

The last time would have been a few years ago; I tend to check up on a few bloggers every so often when I’m wondering how the landscape has evolved¹. As one of the few who were popular enough to make a living off the witty revelations of personal details, she easily made the list. That’s why it was so disconcerting to find that some months there was a single post, and the post was a list of sponsored links to things people could buy. It was especially strange to find her discussing digestive issues while a giant banner would fight for my attention underneath: “And for anyone who may be experiencing what I am, ButcherBox is running a special promotion through the end of the month where new members receive ground beef in every box for the lifetime of their subscription.”

How much of her writing was genuine? How do I trust the words of a person who seems to be capitalizing on her misfortune?

Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t particularly moved when I found out she committed suicide two months ago. It felt like I never knew who she truly was beneath the curse words and products being hawked. I also have a hard time empathizing with anyone who would describe pregnancy as an “endless trove of content”. For me, that kind of mindset reeked too much of melodrama, which I find distasteful enough to avoid in real life.

It glads my heart when I stumble across another online diary nowadays. A genuine one, of course, not updates from a company or a cooking blog that’s stuffed with photos to pad the time someone stays on the page before the recipe is found. No one entertains the same audience as they used to, and I much prefer that to the kind of interactive “confessional” Dooce had, or the social media influencers of today.

I’m reminded of how fortunate I am to still have this little corner of the web to express myself, a place where I’m not beholden to any readers for a source of income. So often I find myself too broken to get out of bed, too strung out to pursue my projects, too busy to find 15 minutes to work on a lick. And during the stretches of time when I’m recovering and there’s nothing noteworthy to talk about, I’m relieved I don’t have to manufacture experiences to keep anyone’s attention. I still get mail asking if there are any spots for advertising or availability for sponsored posts, and they all get promptly get filed away in the trash.

1. Also a good way for me to keep abreast on the latest web technologies.

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Post tags: reflection, social commentary, suicide, writing | Categories: Random

It was sudden and completely unexpected; one afternoon we noticed that he kept to himself, curling up in dark spots that he wasn’t known to frequent. We knew there was a problem when he wouldn’t eat, then he passed away at the vet that day. That was almost three years ago, but I haven’t had the strength to properly eulogize him. It’s too painful when I already spend my days either crying or cried out.

I didn’t even have a chance to say bye.

That’s why these drafts keep piling up. I miss writing as much as I miss the hairy little companion who would jump on my lap for attention every morning, but taking the energy to create feels so meaningless when I barely have the spoons to cook for two people and keep a clean house. I don’t even know if I’ll be alive in another year. The jury’s still out, and I’ve decided they can take their time for now instead of rushing towards a verdict.

It’s also why I’ve been on a regular dose of sedatives since last winter. I used to have to lie down for blood tests¹, while vaccinations were totally fine. After all, there’s nothing being drawn, no crimson essence I can see rushing from my body into little vials. But when I almost passed out, then vomited, at a clinic for a booster shot last year, I knew mindfulness techniques and breathing exercises could do only so much.

It’s hard not to see this new dependence as a sign that I’m failing in my recovery. Compared to my last major depressive episode, I’m still functioning relatively well. But the thoughts and memories I try to keep buried in the back of my mind eventually manage to make their way out, and eventually I need to sedate myself just to be calm enough to keep my food down.

Still, I have to admit that, as a tool, the tranquilizers are a game-changer. The effects of a single 0.25mg tablet will last half a day, with a pleasantly calm (though groggy) hangover lasting another 12 hours. Little frustrations don’t build up in that time, and it gives me the ability to accomplish so much that I momentarily forget I’m a broken man.

Which makes the risk of addiction all the more scary, especially since I’ve started planning my ventures outside around them. It often feels like I’m just passing the time until it’s safe to take my next dose, keeping track of the days with a pills—weed—booze—weed cycle. I asked my psychiatrist for more doses per refill when I last visited him for a renewal and he was resistant to the idea, explaining that drugs work well for issues like schizophrenia and depression but are only a band-aid solution when it comes to anxiety. In order to recover, I’ll need to learn how to be sober when facing the fear and panic that overcomes me — even normalizing them to a degree.

Getting past my trauma at this point seems like an impossible task when I was already in a place of relative stability and doing everything I could to take steps towards better mental health. Maybe I should be embracing it instead, along with all the things I use to cope. If drugs, alcohol, violence, and insanity kept Hunter S. Thompson going well into his 60s, maybe they’ll work for me too.

1. I’d get so light-headed that I’d faint.

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Post tags: alcohol, Byron, cats, death, marijuana, reflection | Categories: Daily Life, Photos

Heather could have gone home on Christmas Day but decided to stay with me, knowing it would be especially cruel to be alone when everyone else is exchanging gifts and enjoying the company of others. I’m glad it was something she could intuit; telling someone to be apart from their loved ones for my sake is something I would never do.

The photo we used for our Christmas card this year, taken when we went shopping for my birthday. Her Oma, who’s too old to have a computer, let alone a social media account, always appreciates a physical copy.

She spent so much of her precious time and energy buying/making thoughtful presents that I felt she deserved all the credit, but it was important to her that people knew they were from both of us though, so I acquiesced to her request of “+ Jeff” on each card. It was a gift itself that didn’t go unappreciated.

Even though I’ve come to shirk the obligatory consumerism of such occasions, she gave me a stocking stuffed with goodies from my favourite chocolatier, some luxury teas, and three pairs of classy socks to go with with the new pants I got earlier this year. It helped make up for the fact that I couldn’t accompany her on her trip home the next day. I’ve been anxiously waiting to introduce her mom to more music and meet Max’s new dog, but I’m still too damaged to leave the house for more than a few hours at a time before seductive thoughts of eternal peace creep to the front of my head and I can no longer breathe.

Among the presents she brought back was more Moselland Cat Riesling that will likely become a custom ever since Max spotted a bottle in a store. Her dad, whom we presume is on the spectrum, includes the same things in each of the kids stockings every year — cheap floss, mint Tic-Tacs, a bottle of lock de-icer, vitamin D tablets, and winter clothing that would be too big for Shaq. I’d normally feel hurt if someone kept thoughtlessly giving me things that I have no use for, but in this case it’s a nice reminder that I’m part of that family, even when I’m not there.

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Post tags: anxiety, family, Heather, loneliness | Categories: Daily Life, Photos

They call it a cottage but it’s really a house when there’s a full kitchen, laundry room, several guest rooms with queen-sized beds; even glass shower stalls.

Since then, I’ve loved and lost and loved again, taught myself to play guitar, and gained an unhealthy obsession with canine companionship. If you asked me back then where I would picture myself now, I might have given you a few guesses, but none would have been close to correct.

The view of the lake from atop the stone staircase. Not seen: rows of wooden recliners and a varied collection of watercraft — including a paddle boat — at the dock.

One of the highlights of a cottage weekend is the dinner Steph spends hours cooking for everyone on Saturday. This time, it was falafel, toum, and roasted veggies, all prepared from scratch.

And she always knows how to plate a dish like a New York chef.

I kept myself mildly sedated most of the time, but being away from my home for more than a few hours was scary enough to cause a panic attack that left me staring dazedly into a bucket once the terror receded. When constant company isn’t enough to keep the darkness at bay, it’s a sign that I’m still broken and need to occupy myself, lest I be consumed by the void of depression.

Regardless of how difficult it may have been, I was grateful for time I got to spend with my friends and their dog¹, especially after all the isolation I’ve faced throughout the pandemic. It was also the perfect chance for Trolley to try out his new drone while I played around with my new set of poi. If I had more spoons, perhaps I would have recorded some music or tried to capture the night sky, but I’m trying not to shame myself for making smaller goals and taking the time I need to survive.

1. I make it a point to give Toba a treat and toy every time I see him, but this time I bought a bag of smaller pig-skin twists so I could surprise him throughout the weekend. He also got a bacon-scented throw toy, cause he’s the goodest boy in the world, yes he is.

© Jeff @ equivocality, 2022. | 5 comments
Post tags: autumn, depression, friends, poi, reflection, vacation | Categories: Daily Life, Photos, Video

I was taken aback. Depressing lyrics and minor chords were an enormous comfort to me¹. As the sole child of a dysfunctional home, the only thing I could turn to when my parents started raising their voices at each other was a set of headphones and Discman, and I’d been hunting for sad songs like a ravenous stray ever since I was old enough to appreciate music.

The same became true of upsetting movies with difficult scenes. Moments of violence, tragedy, and grief would leave me glued to the screen. I was fascinated with the way people processed their pain (or didn’t). War films were particularly apt for this, as relentless years of depression caused me to relate to any soldier with a thousand yard stare. That glazed, expressionless face spoke of a person who had long given up on making sense of the countless horrors and endless suffering they had gone through.

The lights are on, but nobody’s home.

Then it turned to live feedings and butchery. Real death. Lions chasing buffalo across the plains, overpowering their prey, then casually extracting organs with their teeth once subdued. Russet squid turning pure white when their spines are severed, literally looking like a sheet is being drawn over their bodies. Fish immediately going limp with proper ikejime practice.

For my money, snakes offer the most fascinating of feeding behaviours, with two distinct methods of neutralization; an animal may suffer the last moments aware of their life being squeezed out both ends, or suddenly stricken with venom and left to wonder what’s happening as the blood in their nervous system begins to congeal and clot.

I couldn’t understand why J___ — who grew up in a family with generations of hunting culture — would act so disgusted when I showed him videos of snapping turtles eating mice, their bodies being ripped in half like wrappers of a candy bar, torsos still struggling to swim toward the surface with tiny organs trailing behind. For me, it was both a study of instinct and an exploration on the meaning of existence.

But now I know that it was all a sign of how numb I had become, and that such fascination was an attempt to wake myself up from my obsession with suicide. After so many years of depression, I kept searching for an excuse to stay. And if a reason to keep living kept eluding me, I would do my best to find a reason to not die.

Death, in all it’s forms, is a natural, everyday occurrence. Being a passive observer was a legally and morally just way for me to watch something suffer in cruel agony then pass away.

So when would the devil take me?

1. I’ve come to understand how naive it is to think everyone enjoys that kind of mood.

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Post tags: death, depression, reflection, suicide | Categories: Thoughts